Eyes That Belong to the Sea
by SecretFan17
Summary: When America goes to fight in the Vietnam war how does England deal with it? Further more, half way through the war certain issues arise. America is broken and every whispered noise sends him into a panic. How can England tell America his own news when the other country is so broken? Rated M for future lemons and other bits.
1. Preface

Hello! This is my first ever post of one of my fanfictions so please be gentle; however, constructive criticism is very much welcomed. This is a USUK fic and there might be a few other pairings down the road, just waiting to see how this first post will go. USUK also means yaoi a.k.a. BOYXBOY and if you don't like that then why the hell are you reading it? WARNING: this will also be an mpreg meaning that, yes, one or more male characters will be with child. This is for my cracked up love child pairing US x UK= the beloved Sealand.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters, they all belong to their respectful creator.

This is somewhat short considering that this is just a preview of what's to come. This whole fic will be rated T-M for future smut. Please enjoy. ^_^

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Preface: Alone 1959

"You'll be fighting a losing battle you stupid wanker!" Green eyes fumed and thick eyebrows knitted together out of frustration and rage. _Of all this bloody nonsense..._

"I don't need _you_ to tell _me_ what to do! I'm an adult, I can do as I please and if I say that I'm sending my men to Vietnam to stop the flood of communists then I fucking am!" Straight white teeth gritted as eyes blue as the sky were filled with defiance.

The two nations -no- the two lovers stood before each other as anger and negative energy floated about, almost as if they were engulfed by flames. The English nation wanted nothing more than to stop his lover from endangering himself. Vietnam, while being female, was still a force to be reckoned with. Her internal conflicts were none of America's business and he only wished that the younger would quickly come to comprehend this fact. Fighting against Vietnam was a suicide mission. She was fierce, dangerous, and had her land to her advantage. America... America... To the green-eyed man he was still so young, too naive. What would be the point of this war? But America stood there determined as a stubborn Spanish bull; his shoulders squared and his boyish charm had vanished. If needed he would end their relationship and that was something the older country was scared of. He didn't want that to happen.

"Why? Why?" the shorter blond's shoulders slumped, eyes brimming with tears. "What would you gain? It's pointless!" The look on England's face shocked the American. Wide open, red from the heat of the tears, his green eyes glazed with the salt water.

He sighed, raking his fingers through the cow-lick in his hair, "This... This is something I have to do Arthur." He looked down at the trembling man before him. A small but sad smile graced his lips as he engulfed the smaller male into a gentle hug, "I promise this to you. I promise that I'll return with not but a scratch on me. Everything will be fine, it'll be fast, like tearing off a band-aid."

The other shook his head against the other's chest, not attempting to return the embrace. His silent tears marked the man's shirt and he wished that they would remain there as a painful reminder to his lover who exactly he was leaving behind. "Don't go. Alfred. Don't..." he whispered.

America held all the more tighter to the man, "I have to. I have to go. I can't let communism continue to spread." He tried to let go but England then decided to hold onto him. The blue-eyed man sat his large hands on top of the other's shoulders, gently pushing him away. England's eyes held nothing but pain until his chin was lifted to look the young man in the eyes. Their lips connected in a soft but passionate kiss goodbye.

_No no no!_ England screamed internally. _Don't kiss me, don't hold me, don't look at me with that smile on your face like everything is going to be okay._

America was the first to break the kiss. His fingers tangled in blond hair, moving to caress a moist cheek, his thumb smoothing over the other's flushed skin. "I'll be back, I promise. I love you, Arthur." With that he turned away grabbing his military duffel bag and aviary leather jacket stopping at the front door of England's modest home. Turning, he smiled like it would his last though the sincerity of that smile didn't reach his eyes. Giving his lover a thumbs up he spoke loudly, "After all, I'm the hero!" The wooden door gave a soft _click_ as it shut, but the British man didn't let the waver of that boy's confidence go unnoticed.

England stood there... alone. He didn't know how long he stayed there in that empty living room until the sky gave off a navy blue color to the house; the sun would soon be completely snuffed out by the moon. His small bits of tears had dried by then as his eyelashes were hard and he could feel the uncomfortable film of salt on his cheeks. Things weren't going to be all right. The person he loved was leaving for a second time but now he was not the one to decide whether he lived or died. No, it was Vietnam and he could only hope that that nation would be merciful.

The dark walls eventually made him feel as though he were suffocating and the blond Brit eventually moved as he turned to scale his stairs. He wasn't hungry and he doubt he could force himself to have an appetite so there was no point to eating. He wasn't tired and he also doubt that he could sleep but lying in a bed that smelled like _his_ Alfred was better than standing in that living room trying to erase the image of the man's receding back from his mind.

He stayed in the clothes he was wearing, climbing into the bed and burying himself beneath his duvet he curled himself into a ball. He clutched a pillow to his chest beneath the thick cover of darkness allowing the soft sent of America whisk him away into a dark abyss.

* * *

Far away from that peaceful darkness that the British man slept in, his lover was already in the jungle of Vietnam alongside his men preparing troops for his first attack. It would be dawn soon. Blue eyes met a black and starry night. _He didn't even say that he loved me back._ That was all that the broad shouldered man could think of as the picture of his lover's tear stained face maimed his courage. Could he fight this battle with such torn emotions?...


	2. Chapter 1

So this is the real first chapter of this story. Still somewhat short but whatever. I had completed this whole chapter then decided I hated it so I completely rewrote it and made this from scrap and late night adrenaline caused by having nothing else to do so hopefully this draws in more viewers because the preview sure as hell didn't. Please note the dates in these chapters as these will often include some history which I will add for you at the end. September 2, 1967 is an important date in Hetalia, can't tell everyone even though I'm pretty sure I already spoiled the story. Just have to wait and see.

WARNING! Curse words and lemons, very descriptive lemons BOYxBOY you have been warned, this warning is for your own discretion and is your choice whether or not you want to read it. Please review and enjoy! ^_^

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters, they all below to their respectful owner.

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Ch.1 The Broken Will Smile and Share a Gift

_It hasn't stopped. The bombs won't stop. Why? When will it end. Please just let it end! Arthur..._

September 2, 1967

A certain thick eyebrow-ed man rested his head in one hand, doodling absently on the files that he probably should have been going over with the other nations that sat around him. He glanced over at a man of Aryan race who stood boldly at the front discussing about common worldly problems. He had to admit, that German knew how to run a meeting.

He turned his face towards the windows of the room, escaping a sigh and in turn received disapproving looks from those who didn't understand his internal conflicts. The only nations that know about his and America's relationship were Italy, Germany (as the Italian could hardly keep a secret), France, and America's brother, Canada. His flamboyant friend, France, eyed him with worry as well as warning. England had been a sorry mope of a nation for the last eight years since his American lover had been off at war in Vietnam. Though to the eternal nations those eight years were only equivalent to eight months of their lives. Either way, it depressed every soul who was unfortunate enough to occupy the same breathing space as the darkened British nation.

During the time of America's absence, England had become an empty shell of a man. The Brit had not realized how much brighter Alfred had made his life. With his casual smile and those eyes that could light up his world. That light was gone now and the smaller man couldn't help but let the dark abyss of depression suck him in like a vortex, like a black hole in the middle of the universe.

Germany's eyebrow twitched at England's incompetence and lack of manners, angrily slamming the palm of his large hand on top of the brown table causing everyone but the Brit to quiver and shake in fear. "Damn it England! Ve are trying to have a meeting here! Pick your damn self up and get over it! America is a grown up, he doesn't need you pouting over him! Now stop being an ass and do your duties as a country!" The room grew deaf silent, England's head having snapped up, his wide green eyes staring at the German shell-shocked. His chest ached and he could hear the flow of blood from his heart swimming the sound into his ears. His fists were clenched on his knees as he tried to stay composed nodding in response to the German.

Italy looked at the broken country then back to the seething man he secretly called his lover, "Ve~ Doitsu, that was a bit harsh wasn't it?" he said in defense of the crestfallen nation.

Germany clenched his jaw as he took the guilt driven blow. He rested his hand on his forehead, sliding it down over his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Very vell, I'm sorry England. It surprises me though I thought you vould be happier today."

At this the English nation looked up surprised and confused, his thick eyebrows raising to alert the German that he had no idea of what he was talking about. The rest of the nations looked just as confused as he did and Germany inwardly thought about what morons they all were.

"America hasn't informed you? I am honestly shocked. He is stopping by later today to receive the notes from this meeting. He is coming back from zhe var for avhile before going back." Germany started to see tears glaze the other blond's eyes and the rest in the room fell quiet once more not knowing how to respond to this bit of information. Canada smiled softly at England secretly knowing all along but was waiting for his brother to tell his own lover.

He sat in his chair paralyzed. _America was back? He was back and he didn't tell me?! Why? Why?!_

Germany side glanced again at the British Empire already knowing that the smaller blond was about to sprint out of the world meeting, this couldn't ruin today, he needed all the nations but America present. Warily he spoke, "England, please keep your composure. I vill hand you America's notes at zhe end of this meeting if you vait and participate." At this the green eyed man's head shot back debating what to do. Quietly, like a mouse, he nodded.

England had never felt time pass more slowly than in those last thirty minutes of his life. He obeyed the German's orders to stay put and do his duties as a country. He spoke when spoken to and added input on how France's new trade route with Japan could benefit the surrounding countries. He did his part, but he still had this unsettling feeling deep within him that said that the German was lying about America's return all to have him do his job.

True to his words though, the German handed over the world's meetings' notes that were meant for the missing country. He had told the Brit to wait in the conference room for the honey blond to arrive. But what was taking him so long? England spent approximately four hours waiting on his lover, the sky was getting dark as it was dusk and the crestfallen man thought that it was all a lie, a prank to get a good laugh at the disheartened nation. He was about to call it quits before the door slowly crept open.

"Hello? Is anybody still he-" a head full of dirty blond hair with the same cow-lick still on top peeked behind the door and blue eyes went wide at the sight of England. "A-Arthur?!"

The smaller man was found leaning against the brown table staring at his lover in shock that he was actually here. That he had came back from the Vietnam war safe and sound. No, that wasn't true. The war had not ended yet and the American was still too stubborn to have given up. England had heard the rumors that the United States were having their asses handed to them, so why was he still fighting?

Still, at the sight of his lover, even in this dark lighting, the older nation felt overwhelmed and was walking to go be embraced by his long awaited partner until it hit him. He stopped halfway from the table and his lover's arms. America hadn't informed him of his arrival, that meant that the nation didn't care or love him enough to see him even for one minute. He trembled in anger and betrayal.

"Arthu-"

"Shut up! Shut up!" he cried out with his fists clenched at his sides as he realized the situation and began to let hot tears stream down his face. "Why didn't you tell me that you were returning?! Even for a little bit. Don't you love me?! Why?! Tell me why Alfred?! Why didn't you tell me?!" The American stood speechless with his once outstretched arms lowering slowly as he let the feeling of rejection waft over him. His foot moved as if to take a step.

"Don't Alfred! I hate you! Don't come near me!"

He took his first step.

"Stop it! Stay there!"

Another step was taken.

"Don't!"

And another.

"Alfred I mean it! If you didn't tell me that means you want to break things off. That you hate me right?!" Papers were thrown but the blue eyes didn't even flinch.

Another. Just one more.

"I'm warning you! Don't you hear me?! Don't come any closer or I'll- I'll..." but the Brit didn't retreat back, he stayed where he stood.

With a final step the American wrapped his long, large arms around his lover, enveloping him in his scent and warmth, his body and aviation jacket completely engulfing England. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to return to you unless I was a hero, I would only return to you if I won this war. I've missed you Arthur. I've missed you so much." he breathed softly into England's ear making the smaller shudder.

"You stupid wanker, I want you to return no matter what" Both had tears streaming down their face and England wrapped his arms around his lover's shoulders returning the reunion.

Something was off, sure America's shoulders were shaking due to the crying, but it felt like there was something more. The young man's whole frame was frigid, tense. It wasn't as carefree and lax as he remembered them to be. Something was wrong with the man he loved and he wanted to know what.

"Can we... go back home Arthur? I want to hold you in my arms for as long as I am here..." he breathed hot air into his ear again to emphasize his desire.

"Yes, let's go home."

* * *

They entered the humble home that held painful memories in the walls from the last time they were together, the hallway holding the most energy. The house was dark as no lights were on and England turned them on, it taking a few moment's for both men's eyes to adjust to the artificial light.

Finally England turned around able to see the American properly, "Are you perhaps hungr-" before he could look at his lover for more than two seconds the other wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, rubbing his head into the smaller man's back.

"No, I want to be _with_ you." though this excited the Englishman, his lover had made a mistake. It took only those two seconds to get an idea of what condition he really was in and now he understood why he really wanted to hide from his lover. In that split moment he could see dark and heavy bags below eyes that used to be as bright as the sky. Used to be because they were dulled, like the life was sucked out of him. What was Vietnam doing to his lover to put him in such a condition? He now knew that his lover didn't come to him not just because he wasn't a hero, but because he was in a such a weak and pathetic state.

He broke free from America and faced him properly. Sure enough, he was right. His skin was sickly and pale, lips chapped and thinned. The man he loves so much now looked like a ghost of who he was.

Trying to distract England, he pulled him into a passionate and warm kiss like how he used to kiss and sure enough it worked. The Englishman melted into the arms of his lover, wrapping his arms around his neck in a softer embrace than before.

America picked up the green eyed man and, still kissing, maneuvered his way to their bedroom. He might have been gone for eight months in immortal years, but he still remembered these steps as he had walked them so many times before. The top of the stairs and the bedroom were left dark as to not insult the men's eyes further. America carried him to their cozy bed, noting how the room had not changed since he had left except for some pajama pants carelessly thrown across the floor. Something in both lover's mind told them that that would not be the only piece of clothing left on the floor tonight.

He dipped his lover onto the bed softly, lips still connected, and began removing both of their clothing at an agonizingly slow pace wanting to take in every second of this blissful night. It had been so long since the American was able to have a bit of rest without the sound of bombs going on out in the distance, the deep and thick jungle providing little cover for him and his men to be protected from the Vietnam natives.

Once completely unclothed, cold hands panned over a white and flat chest, skimming over soft pink nubs, letting out a small gasp from their owner. The heat of the chest warmed America from his hands and throughout his body. Equally warm to his chest, England's hands rubbed America's shoulders and played with the man's shorter hair.

"Arthur," the younger breathed.

"Alfred," he returned. Their emotions and desires were shared between the contact of their skin. The understanding of one's received pleasure being acknowledged by each other's soft, heated pants for air, electricity of the sensations coursed up their spines and spanned out from their limbs to the tips of their fingers rising their bodies in bliss and ecstasy.

It was only the touching of each other's skin and the passionate kisses that were taken in between that were bringing both so close to release. Both lovers had to admit that neither had felt so deeply in love with the other than in this very moment. It was like being on cloud nine.

America bent over his lover, taking one of the man's nipples into his mouth, swirling and lightly biting the pink flesh until it was nicely perked then moved to work on the other. He slowly rubbed one hand down to the Brit's nether regions, taking the heated appendage in a sturdy grip. England let out a low growl, his hips knowingly bucking into the palm and legs spreading open in earnest.

"Aren't you excited?" America teased, beginning to rub his lover, having him let out spouts of gasps.

"S-shut up, aren't you going to prepare me? I don't think I can take any more," the Brit retorted growing aggravated due to his desire to be filled by the man he loved so dearly. If this was going to be the last time they did it, he didn't want a single moment of their flesh coming in contact to be wasted.

"All in due time. Let me just pleasure you like this for awhile." He spoke softly back to his green eyed beauty. In truth he wanted the image of his lover crying out in pleasure to be engraved in his brain, and engraved in the sensations of his body, namely the palms of his hands.

He rested his head on the Englishman's chest, lightly kissing the skin and breathing hot air on it. His hand moved elegantly on the heated member, stroking the bottom he thumbed the weeping hole on top, earning an approving moan from the man below him.

He took the length in his mouth but not for long as he heard the man call out. "A-Alfred. Alfred I'm going to- going to-... I'm- I- CUMMING!" England breathed out sighing and shuddering. His body was writhing underneath his lover as his hot DNA spewed from him and into the mouth of the American that swallowed it up greedily.

America smiled weakly and began doing what England had wanted him to do from the very beginning. He took three of his fingers and lubing them up with his own saliva, he took one and inserted it into England's tight hole. He winces at the pain, it had, after all, been eight months in country age. England's member began to rise again at the new form of pleasure as America inserted a second finger, scissoring the hole open. If he had to be honest he would admit that he had the ability to come just by his lover's fingers.

When a third and final finger was inserted, England's body was tensing up. He was about to release for a second time which aggravated him to no end. Just as his thoughts border lined on irritation and pleasure, America's fingers slid on his sweet spot causing his body to seize up again and his white hot liquid to fall out in ribbons.

He could hear America chuckle at the British nation's state, "S-shut up you stupid git," he yelled with his thick eyebrows knitting together, those eyebrows that which America bent down to kiss lovingly.

Figuring he would expose his lover's own weakness, he spread his legs using his two index fingers to spread his reopened entrance. Panting seductively, he looked at his lover through half-lidded eyes, "Alfred, I want it. I want you inside me." he breathed out barely in a whisper.

Said America stood on his knees at the bottom of the Englishman, his eyes wide and cheeks reddened in a fiery passion. Not being able to hold back he did what he was asked, taking his time to position and enter the green eyed man. He slowly pushed forth, both moaning out in the struggle to find the right spot. When he got to the hilt, he pulled back and thrust in. This continued until his speed and momentum gained, England's legs were wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. Skin slapped against skin and America jerked England in time with his thrusts. They were so close.

Changing the angle to reach in deeper into the man he sat him on his lap. Pulling his partner up and down as well as thrusting inward. Their pants grew heavier as their sweat and passion mixed in into a potion well known as the love drug.

"Alfred, I'm going to-" but before he could say the last word, America rubbed him just the right way on his sweet spot causing him to come onto both of their stomachs for a third time that night. Clenching down on the American trying to ride out his orgasm for all that it was worth.

America winced at the clenching. Not being able to bare it much longer he too had came, except it was into his lover which he had never done before for fear of causing the man discomfort. "Arthur!" he cried out and then kissed the man's collarbone out of affection. Tonight was a night where all his worries were forgotten as they rode out their climaxes until both laid on the messy bed, cuddling and lolling to sleep into each other's arms.

* * *

It was a bitter morning. England laid on his belly upon the bed with a sheet covering his buttocks as he watched as his younger lover walked around pulling on his clothes. He wouldn't mind this, nor would he mind the throbbing pain in his lower back and rump if it weren't for the fact that where his lover was going wasn't going to be down to the kitchen to make both of them a nice breakfast after a great night of sex- no. He was going back to war, a war that was useless and a loss cause.

England pouted as America gave him a worried look, "Why did you even come back anyways? Shouldn't you be with your men on the battlegrounds?" he glared.

"Yes, I should be. I needed to come back though to make a few preparations for Operation Swift." he answered solemnly and carefully not wanting to step on one of England's emotional landmines.

"Operation Swift?" he softly questioned, not really wanting to know about the details of the war but at the same time wanting to know what his lover was up to.

"Yeah, Operation Swift. Some of my men were captured so I need to gather my special forces and develop a well thought out plan before rescuing them." he said as he looked down to pull on his pants. Now where were his boots and shirt...

"Are you going out today?" he questioned again feeling worried for America's men.

"No, tomorrow. September fourth to be exact." he found what he was looking for and began putting on the article of clothing. Once done he looked back to Arthur and frowned. The man's eyes were brimming with tears as he looked down with an angry face on. He bent down before the green orbs that stared through his soul. To the Englishman the American still looked really pale and unfit for battle. "Wait did you not get my letters since I've been gone? You seem a lot angrier than I would have thought with what I said to you." America looked at him honestly puzzled.

"Huh?" England questioned ingenuously. "What did you say?"

Blue eyes softened at this reaction, "I guess my man passed away before he could get those letters sent. They said 'I love you Arthur. This war won't last much longer before I can be back and have you in my arms'." He smiled again, taking soft lips in his in their second passionate kiss goodbye. He stood up trying to not let his heart break at the sight of leaving England once more for this wretched war. "I'll be back again soon, I promise, and when I do, it will be because the war had ended. Give me one human year tops." America ruffled blond hair before turning away and headed out of the room.

England laid there staring at the door of his bedroom until he heard the front door of his home click with a close. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, "Alfred, you liar." he let a tear escape one of his eyes.

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A/N: How did you like that? Hopefully it was alright. Anyways, Operation Swift was a real operation to retrieve captured men, it had resulted in a large death toll from both sides. I can't remember though if America was successful in that mission. Please review this fic so that I can get better. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy the lemons and I'm sorry for the OOCness.


	3. News

**a/n: So if anyone is reading this and I don't there are, I am debating whether or not to delete this story completely. I had originally thought that this plot would work and people would like it, quite frankly I doubt this past thought now. I do realize that everyone would have a different idea on the characters and of the events that I had at first planned to unfold. Oh well, not everything works. For those of you who had liked this story and I do not know who you are I am sorry. I will mull over this decision for a few days and if I decide to continue than I shall. Thank you for taking the time to read this, I hope you have enjoyed this story thus far. :)**


	4. Chapter 2 Where Are You? I Need You Now

Hey peoples! So with kind words from reviewers I have decided to update this fic! I thank you to those of you who told me that you were enjoying this story. Though I am still on the fence with this one I will still give it my best shot; however, because of my reluctance, I will be putting this one slightly on the back burner. This means that while I will continue writing and testing the waters, I will only be writing this fic when I have time, I will not be pushing things aside to make room for this one fore hasn't been very promising.

I also wrote this chapter with my eyes glazed over so sorry for any mistakes. My eyes are going to be crossed and I believe that my once amazing 20/10 vision is completely dead :/ . C'est la vie.

Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.

Warning: Curse words, mpreg, and some of these characters might be slight OC. Please enjoy and please please please review so I have a good idea on what y'all thoughts about this are.

(No I do not have a southern or Texas accent, but people here do say this, at least near the cowboy ranges. And yes, I do speak French. _Un peu._)

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Chapter 2: Where Are You? I Need You Now.

1969/1970

_It had been two years. Two long and excruciating years. When will this war end? I promised, I promised him I would be back no more than one year. One year. Oh god, I broke the promise. I broke _our_ promise. The bombs, they won't stop. My men, my country, I'm sorry._

_Arthur. I'm sorry._

* * *

A mess of blond hair was fanned in a short pile around a sleeping head, the rays of the sun that signified a new day brushed up against a peaceful face. It was only in this man's dream that he was truly at rest. His pale skin shone, soft facial flesh was smooth, skin slowly growing to shaded black as the light reached the underside of his eyes.

Yes this man was very much at peace while he slept, but to fall asleep was a challenge in it of itself.

In his dreams he would lie against a warm and broad chest, and though he would deny every comment directed towards this behavior, deep down he truly loved this warmth. The warmth of a partner, of his lover. Many times it would always be just him and America holding one another on a bed, but sometimes it would be them basking in the glow of a field, the field where they first met.

In his dreams he was safe. Safe from himself, safe from the fear of his love never coming home. Safe from his darkest nightmares and worries. He was all alone in those dreams.

Green eyes opened to the overbearingly bright light, thick eyebrows knitting together as he tried to clear his vision by rubbing his eyes on his wrist. Upon looking around the room did he realize that truly, he was not all alone. He looked over into the corner of his room to see a certain blond snoring soundly on a mountain of dirty clothes. This blond was someone that took the Brit nearly a month to remember that he existed.

The England nation had had a mental break down one night when he overheard the other nations talking about what all was going on in Vietnam. The Brit then decided to hit the bars to forget, to not think of his lover out there alone and dying deep within the jungles of that horrid land. He had become completely shitfaced, whining and crying, making everyone around him uncomfortable.

He was also neglecting his duties as the personified body of England. Slowly his attendance to meetings dropped, and when he was there, he hardly paid attention at all. His book of notes that were usually brimming with information on how to help his country was now empty. He became hollowed, an empty shell. A zombie.

It was then that America's brother, Canada, had spotted him walking the lonely cold streets and decided to take him home. After that train wreck of a night the quiet and unnoticeable nation decided that he would take full responsibility of England while his brother was away at war. The Brit was starting to assume that his lover had put the man up to this.

It had been over a year (one month for the countries) since Canada kept a watchful eye on the Brit and while the company helped at times, it certainly wasn't enough. American had lied to England, had broken their promise that he would return within a year.

Bullshit. It was now a little over two of those years.

Messy blond hair raised from the white pillow, the lonely nation sitting up in his bed yawning. Lifting his slender arms he stretched, hearing all of his bones pop due to lying in one position all night long. Halfway through another yawn, he stopped. His face contorted in one of confusion as he felt his stomach churn, a familiar feeling that came only when he drank too much rose in his throat. Putrid acid burned the lining of his esophagus as the bile came up to the back of his throat. Without another moment of hesitation he leaped out of bed, tumbling over an uncharacteristically dirty room until he made it to the bathroom where he promptly lifted the toilet seat to release his demons into the porcelain god. It didn't end, his head seemed to be forever in the depths of that white tank.

At the sound of vomiting dark blue eyes opened slowly as the personified version of Canada woke to the rise of an early morning. Upon hearing the noise he frowned, looking around the room to note that England no longer lied in his bed. He got up slowly and followed the sound of the horrid noise.

Entering into a small bathroom he saw the United Kingdom nation in a pathetic state and rushed to his side, "E-England! Are you all right? What's wrong?" he exclaimed as he tried to brush the hair off of the man's face to bring some comfort.

"Do I look all right to you?! God what the hell is this?" he muttered. The ordeal was not yet over and he continued to empty the contents of his stomach, probably a lung with it, until he was doing nothing more than dry heaving. The Canadian continued to rub soothing circles into the older nation's back despite that he was a little miffed for the blond's cruel attitude.

Once done the Englishman spat the sour taste, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "Better?" the Canadian asked quietly, not wanting to provoke the man further.

He shook his head, "I still feel a little nauseous. Hey, Canada. Did I drink anything last night? I could have sworn that I had nothing but tea before bed..." he mumbled confusedly.

"No, just tea." he answered a little skeptical.

England nodded and just as he was about to stand up from the floor, he fell back down again as he felt the urge to vomit come back for another brutal round. _Seriously? You're not done?_

It was close to an hour by the time he was done with his one-on-one time getting to know his toilet well before he wobbled back to bed, not daring to stand up as he crawled his way beneath his sheets. He had sent Canada downstairs so that the quiet country could eat his pancakes smothered in maple syrup. At this point England didn't want to see a morsel of food ever again. He closed his curtains shut to not let a single ray of light escape and then buried himself beneath his duvet. Sleep coming easily to the tired man.

This carried on for weeks. England seemed deathly ill and he rarely had enough strength to make his way to meetings. Not only that, but America showed no signs of returning. He was a mess and every nation began to think that it would be the end of one of the greatest empires the world had ever seen brought down by a lonely heart and a mysterious illness that no nation wanted to come near him for fear of it being contagious.

It was only Canada that stayed by his side, ensuring that the man was kept alive. Deep down half of Canada thought that perhaps his brother was out there dying on the battlefield, the other half remained optimistic, telling the green eyed nation that America would soon return safe and sound.

Each morning it became the same routine. Nowadays the sickness started before the break of dawn, England would puke up every bit of food he had managed to keep down throughout the day and Canada would come in to keep him company. Eventually the quiet blond grew so used to England that he now started to have arguments with him. He pressed and even begged for the older male to go and see a doctor who specialized in the country personifications, but the Brit was relentless.

Stubborn as a bull he refused each and every time the syrup loving man told him that he should get checked out. He pressed forward, trying his best to stay strong as a country, holding his head high while walking on his own two legs. That determination every morning was short lived.

England was growing thin, his cheeks even started to sunk in and the bags underneath his sleepless eyes grew darker. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Canada had been sending countless letters to his brother out on the battlefield discussing about Britain's well being but as it seemed, none got through to his brother. His letters were never read and never replied to. He was left all alone in charge of the sick United Kingdom.

Canada himself grew tired of caring for the man all by himself and he grew angry. It wasn't his lover that was ill and it wasn't his fault that his idiot brother dropped all of his responsibilities as if they were nothing. One day while England slept in his bed, much too tired to even walk, he called in an old friend.

It wasn't too long before the Canadian heard a knock on the door and he opened it to reveal a blond man decked in blue clothes and a cape. "Mon amour!" he yelled as he leaped through the door to give him a hug but Canada side stepped causing the Frenchman to miss and fall. "Aww but Canada it's been so long since I've seen you. You've been tucked away here taking care of that brat Eyebrows! I've missed you!" he whined giving blue puppy eyes that had zero affect on the Canadian.

"I am sorry France. But this is an emergency, no time for us to catch up. I need your help with England, he's still refusing to go to the doctor and I fear that he's only hanging by a thread." he said as he looked at France with all seriousness.

"Oh? He's still sick?" he was answered with a nod, he sighed. "Okay, if it really is serious then I will help, so long as he isn't contagious..." France trailed off already feeling squeamish about working with someone who was ill.

"No, I haven't had a slightest bit of illness. Thank you France. I thought that if anyone could talk some sense into him, it would be you. Please follow me." he said in a rush and turned to head up the creaky steps of England's home, France getting up and dusting himself off and following after.

When they got to the top of the stairs and turned to a closed bedroom door Canada knocked and opened it slowly, "England, you have a guest." he said turning his head in and then opening the door all the way to let France in.

France gave a loud girlish shriek as to the mess that he saw. Dirty clothes were thrown about the room, papers fluttered in no particular order and the room held a rancid stench of vomit. Something must have been wrong with the Brit for him to let his room get like this.

The two nations that stood in the entrance hearing a groan and saw as a head of blond hair rose from the ashes, blanket falling from his head, "What the hell? Who is that?" he muttered angrily.

"Eep! England!" France yelled as he saw the thinning body of his friend weakly sit up, bags heavy beneath his eyes.

"France? Why the hell are you here?!" the Brit tried to sound mean but his voice only cracked. The flamboyant country collected himself together letting out a breath.

He walked over to the bed in which his close friend lied on and examined his appearance thoroughly. Whatever was ailing this proud nation couldn't be good, he looked like he was bordering between life and death, "England, mon ami, I am here to persuade you to see a doctor." he said not trying to beat around the bush and just get straight to the point before his friend continued to waste away.

England, however, scoffed, "Ha! Did Canada put you up to this?" the nation promptly hid behind France letting out a squeak, "For the last time, I feel fine! Just a bit under the weather is all. I'll be back to full health in no time." He tried to give a bright smile but it just faded when he saw the disappointed look on France's face.

"You don't seriously think I'm going to believe you, non? Look at yourself! You're falling apart and the fact that stupide America hasn't returned yet probably isn't making it any better! Come come, you're going to see a doctor so we can find out what's wrong with you," he said as he moved to grab England's wrist.

The green eyed man tried to desperately pull himself out of the blue eyed man's grasp, "Leave me the hell alone you stupid wanker! If I say that I'm fine then I'm fine!" he began fighting with his friend, ultimately he was a fighting a losing battle.

"Non! Quit being so stupide! We are taking you to the doctors and that's final!" France yelled stubbornly as he almost had half of Britain off the bed. "Canada please help me! We will drag him there if we have to!" he said frantically.

"O-oh I don't know France. Maybe we shouldn't push him so h-"

"Help me now Canada! For England's sake, for your brother's stupide lover's sake. Grab his legs!" he yelled back and Canada could do nothing but leap in to help. France holding onto the upper torso of the small British man making sure that his fists weren't flying, and Canada holding England's legs as support, they lifted him off the bed with little difficulty and pulled him out of the house and to the doctor.

It took quite a lot of patience and will power but eventually the two blue eyed nations managed to coax the enraged blond to come without a fight and there the three of them sat in the waiting room to a doctor who specialized in all things relating to personified countries. If anyone knew what to do, it would be this man.

The waiting room was a dreadful room, at least to England. The walls were painted a horrid pale blue and the chairs looked like they were supposed to be used for family reunions. Old magazines were hastily splayed out onto chipping wooden end tables and the room smelled of something putrid. In the room there were only a few other people. The doctor might specialize in countries but he also worked with normal humans, however, England thought he could see a familiar head of silver hiding behind a newspaper.

A man with a long white lab coat walked in with a clipboard reading off of it, "Umm is there a Mr. Kirkland here?" he called out. At that name the men but England stood up, the doctor giving a questioning look, "So who's exactly again?" he asked.

France grabbed the pouting nation's arm and hoisted him unto his feet, "Oui, he is monsieur." he pointed a finger sideways towards the man.

"I thought so judging by his outward health," he muttered and England felt insulted. He cleared his throat, "Nice to meet you Mr. Kirkland, otherwise known as the English nation yes?" a nod, "I am Dr. Smith. I apologize for the waiting room disaster, this is a new facility and we plan on having it remodeled soon. There are only so many specialized doctors such as myself so it is hard to make our own clinic." he said as he went to shake the Brit's hand.

England shook it out of respect, "It is not a problem Dr. Smith, quite nice to meet you. Could we perhaps carry this check up along and prove to these two imbeciles that I am fine and just a little under the weather?" he asked hoping that the answer would be yes.

"I'm afraid it might not be that simple sir. You look really ill and I wish to give you a full examination." he answered feeling guilty for actually doing his job. "I will try my best, however, to make it go by as fast as possible. Now will you please follow me Mr. Kirkland. Oh and Mr. Williams and Mr. Bonnefoy if you will please remain out here until we are done." he said this with all the formality in the world as he led the blond Brit down the hall to his examination room.

The blond country moved into the small room, the doctor motioning for him to have a seat. The seat was a brown leather examining bed with crumpling white, uncomfortable paper on top used to keep the area sanitary. He promptly sat up but slouched as his body was too tired to care. The doctor noted down this behavior.

"Now, Mr. Kirkland, from what I was told on the phone earlier you have had recent heart break, but currently this is not the cause for your lack of, how you say, self care? Either way, I want you to describe to me in detail all that has been going on for me to better provide you with care." he said as he clicked his pen several times as emphasis. "Please keep in mind that you are an adult and this is for your own well being," he smiled, almost trying to provoke the sick nation.

England growled, "Of all the bloody nonsense. I think I am just fine, it is simply an illness but if you really want me to go on with this then fine." he huffed glaring at the doctor out of spite. "I guess that I haven't been able to keep any food down, especially in the morning. And I've been quite tired lately, but other than that I've been fine so I don't understand what the problem is!" he said defiantly.

The doctor only hummed, "And how long as this been going on?" he questioned.

"U-um I guess a month and a half, so a year and a half for humans." the doctor nodded as he wrote something down.

"And when was the last time you engaged in intercourse, may I ask?"

"W-what?!" England stuttered as he yelled, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Would you please answer the question? Preferably giving me a year." he deadpanned. The hardest part about working with nations is the fact that he was not immortal like them so he always had to refer to human years as months for the nations.

"Okay, fine! 1967." he lowered his voice close to a whisper.

"I see," he clicked his pen a few times, "Okay, so then I just need to do the examination and then we can see what is wrong with you." he said this standing up and walking over to the nation. "Please remove your shirt so I may listen to your heart and lungs please," he asked as he put on his stethoscope, placing the cold metal onto the blond, goosebumps to rising where it touched flesh.

He listened to the healthy heart beat and the lungs, all seemed well so far. He lowered the instrument down to the stomach area to listen to any abnormal stomach noises when he heard it. A light flutter. He stood back up and began the process of taking the blond's blood.

"Hey! What do you need that for?" he asked angrily.

"Just to check things on a molecular level that I cannot examine for myself." he said as he took two tubes of the red substance. "Okay," he said as he set the blood down and took out a cup from his cupboard, "Now I want you to take this down the hall, first door on the right and give me a urine sample to better examine your bodily functions, this is the last part and afterwards I would like you to wait out there with your friends until I receive the results." he said still deadpanned and handed the nation the cup.

"Fine fine! The sooner this is over with the better!" he groaned again as he did what he was told. Once done with his duties he went into the waiting room and flopped onto one uncomfortable chair.

"So, how was it?" France asked, side glancing his weary friend.

"Stupid," he muttered, "And you'll all feel stupid when we find out that nothing is wrong with me." he retorted as he stared off into the distance ignoring the two men as he waited for the doctor to receive the results.

It had been close to an hour, at this point France had left momentarily to grab everyone an early lunch, England refusing his share as the smell of the Frenchman's crescents made him nauseous. Canada began to slowly doze off and France was now so enthralled with a magazine that the Brit had no idea what it was about. _Seriously, what is taking that damn doctor so long?_

As soon as he thought this Dr. Smith walked out with clipboard in hand and a serious, almost grim expression graced his features. "Mr. Kirkland? I'm sorry for the wait, I had to redo some of the work to confirm them. Are you ready to hear the results?" he asked and the Brit stood up and nodded. "Umm," he gave a shy chuckle, "You might want to sit down for this one."

England gave a puzzled look but sat down nonetheless, "And why's that?" Upon hearing the awkward conversation, France and Canada sat up giving the two men their full attention, their curiosity peaked.

The doctor cleared his throat with a cough, "Well, you see Mr. Kirkland according to the answers you gave me in the examination room I had a theory of what might be the cause for your illness and these results only clarify them. You don't have a deathly illness, first of all," everyone let out a breath that they didn't realize they were holding. _So I'm not going to die of this illness, ha, they were wrong._ "However, you are pregnant." _What._

"What?! This must be some kind of a joke! That's impossible! I'm a man! You're a quack doctor and I knew it!" England yelled trying to lunge for the man, but France and Canada held him back.

The doctor jumped slightly, "N-no sir, I assure you, it's highly possible. You see, you're a nation, an immortal. Ever wondered how you all were created with mainly nothing but males as countries?" Britain paused in his charge and sat back down wide eyed. "Males in your case CAN get pregnant, in fact, many have. The sickness you have been experiencing? That's all morning sickness." he added.

The green eyed man nodded in understanding, "I see." was all he said as he tried to let the information sink in.

"Oui, merci doctor for your work. Now England?" France spoke all of this softly and turned to the emotionless nation tenderly, "Why don't you go outside with Canada for some fresh air while I talk with Dr. Smith here?" the Brit only nodded and allowed himself to be lead outside by his lover's brother.

Once gone France talked with the man about the difficulties the blond would be facing, what they should do to help, and finally scheduled an appointment in another week for the first trimester screening, this week prior was to be used to allow the nation to compose himself. France bid the doctor farewell and walked out to find Canada standing all by himself with a grimace on his face.

"Where the hell is England?" he asked looking around the street to see if he could find him.

"I-I'm sorry France, but he kicked me and ran off." he said, clutching his groin area in pain.

France merely sighed, he figured as much, "Oui, merci for watching him for all but five seconds Matthew. I'm sure he probably just ran home. We should go and find him, non?" he asked and the Canadian nodded as they waved for a taxi and headed back to the Englishman's house.

When they arrived they opened the front door to find the blond man they were in pursuit for crouching on the ground, arms wrapped around his midsection and tears streaming down his face. Both French speaking males went on either side of him, rubbing his back in comforting circles trying to sooth his cries.

_Pregnant. Pregnant and where's the father? In that bloody war. I'm all alone. What if he never comes back? He hasn't answered anyone's letters. I don't know what to do with this child. Do I even want to keep it? Of course I'm going to keep it, idiot, it's America's child too. I can't just kill it. Oh god, I just don't know what to do. Damn you, damn you Alfred. Where are you? I need you now more than ever._ he sobbed, his heart feeling as though it had been stabbed with a heavy blade.

France's eyes held nothing but worry, England already had so much turmoil in his life and a child to add fuel to the fire was not going to be an easy task to handle. He spoke softly as he tried to cheer the broken man up, "I think it's about time you moved back into your mansion, mon ami."

* * *

a/n: So how was it? Hopefully not too dreadful.

I also want to thank those who took the time to review and send me words of encouragement: _psycho of the spades, hush a deathful lullaby_, and _Anon._ Thank you three so much :)

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and please review!


	5. Chapter 3 A Beautiful Moment but Alone

Hey everyone! So this update is REALLY late, I'm so sorry, that was not my intent. Between doing a lot of things, a lot of crazy going through the house, and my allergies raging all hell against me because of monsoon season, I could barely get anytime to type. But here it is!

I don't want to spoil anything in this chapter so I will explain at the very end for any possible misunderstandings. I will say though that you will get an idea about life on the battlefield for America.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.

I hope you enjoy and please please review! Thank you to all those who have and all of the people that are now following this story, it means a lot. :)

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Chapter 3: A Beautiful Moment but Alone

_Blue eyes opened to the sound of bombs in the distance. The contact of explosives against earth gave a soft rumble, signifying that the blasts were far away and were not to be feared... for the moment. He had gotten so use to this. So use to the loud noises, the paranoia that came from being on the battlefield. _

_Unlike his soldiers, he was not given rest. He had been here for many human years but only months to his immortal soul. By the time that it seemed as though his lack of ageing or ability to keep going seemed suspicious, his boss would send him off to a new troop. He had wanted to be out here with his men. To stand by them. That's what any good county would do. Right?_

_He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he looked to the night sky, frowning at the fact that he couldn't see a single star do to the pollution that hung in the air from the warfare. Oh well. The bombs sounded as though they were getting closer and he figured that he should start waking up any soldiers that were still asleep._

_He turned to his stomach and army crawled his way to the nearest soldier. Shaking the shoulder to rouse the man awake he whispered, "Hey, hey dude wake up. We need to get- WOAH!" he yelled as his body was thrown, now facing back to the sky again. A heavy bone that felt to be a knee pressed into his abdomen making the organs wail in pain, a forearm firmly pressed against his throat, cutting off his windpipe and therefore his air supply. He could feel as New York was blown in with a gust of wind and stilled._

_A knife pointed at his jugular, a crazy look filled the blond man's comrade's eyes. Fear and paranoia laced his muscles and even his vocal chords, "Ya damn Charlie try'na sneak up on me? Well now yer fuckin' with 'Merica now you piece o-" the man's eyes widened in realization that this man was not an attacker but a good friend. He dropped his knife and got off the blond immediately once he came to, "J-Jones, I'm sorry man. I- oh god. I thought you were a Cong." his voice shook as he covered his face in shame. He had almost killed one of his own, little did he know that it was actually the personified version of the very country that he was fighting for. The man began to cry, adrenaline still coursing through him as he had thought he was going to lose his life._

_All America could do was watch, empathy displayed across his features as he understood the man's fear. He himself was terrified at the attack. His fingertips fell from the handle of his own knife. The light of dying ember glowed off of his glasses, his eyes looking watery in the orange flames that lit the quiet camp. Bombs still going off miles away in the unknown jungle..._

_"What do you mean we need to set fire to these areas? I don't agree!" a hard slam hit the table, a hand splayed on the map that had labeled attack points._

_"Sir, Mr. America. With all due respect we are at a disadvantage right now and we need to flush out as many North Congs as possible. Burning this part of the forest," he indicated with his index on the map, "Is the only way we can do so without harming our own men." This general said it with such pride it pissed the blond off. The dark bags under his eyes only heightened his intimidating glare._

_"No! We've destroyed this land enough! It's not right! There has to be another way!" America stated this with earnestness._

_"Sir, this isn't your place to call the shots right now. Besides, you look tired. We can send you to the troops that see less action so you can rest-"_

_"No, I'm staying with my troops that need the most help. It's the least I can do for allowing such a war to happen." he muttered and the men within the tent only nodded. It's not like they could force him to go anywhere._

_"Are you sure there isn't another way?" the blond questioned again, biting his thumbnail hoping that they would change their minds._

_"No." one word was stately coldly and the country became enraged, throwing the table of maps to the other side of the tent as he made his way out._

_"Yeah fucking right assholes." he said as he left. Idiots. They only wanted to handle it the easy way. They only ever thought about brute force. What good would it to? Vietnam's people will only flood the land again once the fire dies down. They were skilled and cunning people who knew this land much better than any of America's men._

_He was walking by three men who sat around laughing. That laughing that never stopped on some occasions. He glanced to see that his suspicions were true. The men were only enjoying their off time doing drugs, something the blond was sad to see. This is what became of his great soldiers. Drug addicts who used it as a way to not think about the war, the bombs, the Congs._

_He continued down his path until he reached a group of sober laughing soldiers, gathered around a crate, some sitting on barrels, others standing and observing all that was going on. A game of poker._

_"Oi Jones! Come join us!" and brunette yelled towards him and he smiled, walking over._

_"Yeah, pop a squat!" another chided as he handed him a barrel and a can of beer._

_America sat down smiling as he opened the can with a fizz and took a swig. "So the bosses wanted to see you? Give us the goods man." the brunette said with a large grin sprawled across his face._

_"Yeah but I can't tell you." he said in a teasing voice._

_"Aww man."_

_"Hey dude. They sure ask a lot of you even though you're one of us, but you've been out here longer than most. Why don't they promote you or something?" Another questioned and America bit his lip thinking about what he should say. They all knew him by his human name and didn't know that he was America in the flesh so to them it must have been strange to see a man put in so much work and not get bumped up a rank or two._

_"I tell them not to. I feel more comfortable out on the field." he saw the contrast of the whites of eyes compared to their dirty skin look at him in disbelief._

_"What about dying? You should go to safer grounds. Don't you have a girl or something at home waiting for you?" one asked and there was silence around the poker game._

_America stared down at his now empty beer can, dirty fingers rubbing across the lip of the tin can, "Yeah, yeah I do." he said with a smile._

_Arthur._

* * *

Green eyes woke to the all too familiar feeling of vomit rising from his gullet to the back of his throat. As per routine he got up and raced for the bathroom, and due to newly established circumstances, it was a tad farther from his bed than it used to be. After barely making it to the bowl and emptying his stomach of its usual contents, he laid against the toilet, spitting the bitter taste from his mouth.

"Master England?" he heard an elderly woman's voice call for him from behind the closed door of his bedroom, concern filling her voice.

"Just go away!" he shouted and he curled into himself, head resting on his bent knees. The sun wasn't even up and yet his oldest servant he had known since she as a little girl was up and about worried about him. He didn't mean to shout, but he only wanted her to go back to her quarters and get some rest.

This was all France's fault. As soon as they received the news about England's pregnancy with his absent lover's child, the flamboyant country did not just insist but _forced_ the blond country to move back into his mansion that he had back when America was just a kid himself. He reasoned to the upset man that it would be better for him if he had people able to watch his well being at all hours of the day to make sure that he was alright. Partly for the pregnant man but also for the quiet country known as Canada so he could rest himself after taking care of the Englishman thus far.

Pregnant. That was right. It wasn't just himself anymore. It was him and another being. He had been so shocked by the news that he didn't give it much thought, in fact, he just let himself get swept away by France's actions. One morning he was waking up to a humble home, head deep within an old toilet and now he was waking up in a house fit for a king and puking his meals into a porcelain throne.

So much was going through his head but he still managed to keep a few of his thoughts organized. Firstly, this child was America's, that much was painfully obvious. Secondly, he was going to keep it, since it had the same blood of his lover's coursing through its tiny veins, he was going to love it all the same. Thirdly, he had to tell America, but he didn't know how. And last but not least, how the bloody hell did he end up pregnant anyhow?!

He intended to receive that answer today where he would be taken to the doctor for the first ultrasound. Oh god. That sounded like a nightmare in it of itself. What if something was wrong? Maybe he wasn't pregnant, there was a mistake and it was instead some horrible illness that could kill him. _What if?_

He let out a long and dramatic sigh, hands coming up to rub his tired face. He didn't want to get back up and go to bed only to have to race back to his savior once more because, let's face it, puking up once in the morning was never an option. If it was really a kid, it was pissing him already. Instead of playing the game of 'race to the toilet', England opted for curling up on the ground, face gently snuggling into the small shag carpet that lined the tile floor as his eyes slowly closed for a few minutes of sleep before his next purge.

* * *

The next thing the Brit woke up to wasn't the expected feeling of queasiness or the sound of one of his maids rapping on the door to stir him awake. Instead it was the familiar sound of chuckles going "honhonhon," and a familiar sight of blue eyes and wavy golden locks standing above him. Green eyes closed tightly shut again, body turning away from the offender.

"What the bloody hell do _you_ want, France?"

"Oh mon cher, did you forget? I told you after you had yourself collected last week that we would be taking you to the doctor to make sure everything is all right. That's today." he added at the end for emphasis for the grumbling nation to fully understand although it only annoyed him further.

"We?" he questioned pointedly, glancing over the Frenchman's leg the see another head of gold, blue eyes behind round glasses, and a red sweatshirt with a maple leaf on it. If it weren't for the fact that he had spent so much time with this particular blond, he would have either mistook him for his missing lover or not notice him at all.

"Oui, mon amour and I." white teeth glistened as he grabbed England's forearms, attempting to pull him up from his nest on the floor, "Now come on, preggers, we need to get you checked out." he announced earning a slap upside the head from two different points. One from front, one from behind. Double attack.

"Shut the hell up you damn Frog! Have you any sensitivity?!" he yelled as he got up.

"Ouch so mean you two!" France cried out before regaining his composure, "Just get dressed already! It's almost time for the appointment!" he whined.

Britain obliged, going back into his large master bedroom pulling out clothes left and right. If he was pregnant, he couldn't tell besides the morning sickness. All of his clothes still fit but perhaps it was too early to tell. He noticed Canada and France stand within the door frame as they watched the shorter male slip on a baggy casual shirt which they both assumed was America's because it portrayed some form of super hero, "Am I to assume that you have not eaten anything yet?" France was answered with a nod, "Are you hungry?" a negative shake was given and he sighed indignantly. "Very well," he pushed his weight off the door frame as he walked out of the bedroom, signaling the other two to follow.

Once out into the front room of the mansion all three nations received warm 'good mornings' from the house staff which had dropped immensely since the last time the Brit lived there. England didn't want that many of his servants to know that he was coming back, he wouldn't be able to hide anything if he did. Once outside they went into France's red sports car that had a drawn down convertible top. Figures.

Britain opted for sitting in the backseat, arms across his chest and a pout on his features hoping that all will pass by quickly and that his questions would be answered. Hopefully.

The car ride to the doctor was brief and quiet. The air was so thick with anxious emotions that one could cut with a knife. Once they entered the waiting room of the doctor's office Canada led England to some of the metal chairs that still needed to be replaced as France walked to the receptionist to alert the doctor that they were there. There was only one notable change to the room and that was the walls. Instead of their tacky blue from the last week they were instead painted with a fresh white paint that made it look much more formal than the previous color. _Now if only they did something with this horrible furniture,_ England thought this to himself.

England looked up at his flamboyant friend whom he knew must of did something flirtatious because the woman behind the front desk seemed to have melted by the time the wavy blond turned around, a conceited grin sprawling across his lips as he made his way to the two. Canada's face contorted in irritation much too extreme for such an action but the green eyed nation let it go as France sat next to him. England being in between his so called 'friends'.

"I really wish that you didn't flirt with my people like that. It's frustrating." he muttered trying to reprimand the country for his behavior.

"Oh but England~ I simply can't help that they fall for my charming looks~!" he answered with suave as he ran his fingers through his golden locks and flipped his hair. England only groaned in response as he felt the quiet Canadian fume beside him.

It didn't take long until the doctor from last week came out holding his clipboard, "Mr. Kirkland? Are you ready for your appointment?" he called out to the familiar male seeing as they were the only people in the room.

All three of the nations got up and approached the man in the lab coat, England taking his hand and giving it a shake, "Dr. Smith, it is somewhat nice to see you again." the blond spoke honestly.

"Well yes, last appointment wasn't exactly what you were prepared for. You seem to be looking a bit better from the last time we spoke." he added.

"I don't feel any better though," the man only nodded in response.

"That is understandable. So this appointment can be less private if you would like," England gave a shaky yes, "Okay so if you two would follow me I would be happy to begin your first check up." He motioned for England and France to follow.

"Umm two?" France asked and the doctor stopped.

"What about me? Can I go?" whispered the Canadian causing the man to jump a good two feet in the air.

"O-oh I didn't see you there! Who are you? If I may ask."

"I'm Canada," the blond responded, slightly irritated for being forgotten.

"Oh! Right right! I'm sorry Mr. Jones! That was all my fault." he said hastily hoping that he didn't offend the nearly invisible nation.

Canada slightly smiled, "Please, call me Matthew."

"Matthew." he said lowly, the doctor not realizing that he was being given a stare down by a nation clad in blue.

They followed the man into a small room that had a swivel chair and some large one that seemed to possess the ability to be pulled back, it also seemed comfortable. "So," the doctor began sitting in the swivel chair and motioning for the Englishman to have a seat on the large mechanical one and giving an apologetic smile to the other two who had to stand, "I gave you an overall check-up last week and everything else seemed to be fine so for today we are only interested in the fetus." he said this word coldly, without any attachments for fear that the Brit might not want the child at all.

"First, may I ask, are you keeping the child?" he asked hopefully and was given a jerky nod, "Good. I won't ask who the father is if you want to keep it confidential; I can tell it's not either of these two," he said pointedly and the standing blonds gave a questioning look wondering how he could tell, "However, it makes it a bit easy to answer your questions if-"

"It's America." Britain blurted out angrily and he brought his knees to his chest, puffing out his cheeks.

Dr. Smith looked surprised at first but regain his composure as he took note of it on his clipboard, "Right, that will be helpful." he murmured as he bent down and opened up a drawer to get out several bunches of newspapers, folding them out at the bottom of the seat, "Anyways, I am sure you have many questions as you were in quite a shock from the last time I saw you, please ask away." he smiled warmly as he said this.

Green eyes were looking numbly at the papers until he reached the grey eyes of the doctor, he could feel the tension in the air coming from France and Canada as they desperately wanted to hear what he had been thinking since he had received the news. "The most obvious ones of course," he growled, "would be, how this is possible since I'm male, and why is it happening now?" he asked.

The man stared blankly for bit then nodded as he processed carefully how he should answer although he had predicted such questions. "Yes well, you see Mr. Kirkland, it has always been possible for male personified nations to bear children just as much as it is for female nations to. It's quite rare that a child is needed nowadays so it is hardly heard of, but if you think about it- what is the ratio between male and female personified countries and yet there are so many?" he hung that in the air and the two standing nation's faces lit up like they just learned the meaning of life.

"Okay that sounds all well and good, but can you please tell me how and why?" the Brit pressed, his teeth grinding.

"W-well," he stuttered from the harshness, "when a new country comes about a personified human needs to be born in order to take care of that nation, to represent it. So the nation that this new one is derived from, or their partner, gains the ability to reproduce to make this possible. You've basically grown a womb inside of you that enables you to carry out such a task. Now how one conceives the child on the day the new country arrives is beyond any logical reasoning." he ended with a gasp for air as he talked rather fast to get to the point.

At this the blond Brit lied back in the chair taking all the information in, a slight frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed as he pondered what all this meant before he turned back to the doctor, "So what you're telling me is that some new country has been made and now I'm pregnant with its personified version?" he asked shyly, he had completely forgotten that France and Canada were still there listening to the whole thing.

"Yes."

"And what country is that? I wasn't informed about any new countries," he now remembered the other blonds' presences and turned to them, "Have you?" he asked and both gave a negative shake of their head.

"That's why I have these newspapers out, to see which it is. You may not have noticed but some kind of newspaper company must have." The doctor spoke as he unfolded the papers and began skimming through them for any information before he stopped and squinted at a tiny column that lied off to the side on the bottom of a page, "Aha!" he exclaimed before pointing directly at it.

All three nations looked over to the tiny piece. Bold letters read: **Small Port Becomes New Country.** Eyes blinked at this new information, the name _Sealand_ was apparently given to the port as the country's name and off to the side was a black and white picture of the small military port that the Brit had forgotten all about.

France burst out laughing, hand on his forehead and another clutching his stomach, "Honhonhon! Ah Britain! This is too good! You, the great United Kingdom, and the father, America! The powerhouse nation! You two are giving birth to the personified version of that little thing?!" his laughter only grew louder and he leaned against the wall.

"Shut the hell up you stupid git!" green eyes fumed as he continued to yell at the annoying Frenchman, between the laughter and the shouting, neither could hear the soft whispers of a Canadian trying to tell them to calm down, that was, until France earned a hard slap in the face that wasn't from England.

"W-what? Matthew?" the flamboyant country held his stinging red cheek in utter shock, the rest of the room was quiet as well.

"Stop picking on Arthur like that! It isn't nice and I can bet on my beloved maple leaf that this isn't healthy for him or the baby!" the dark blue eyed blond had spoken this is in a low but serious tone. "Please Dr. Smith, continue with this appointment." he smiled to the shocked man who blushed in turn, another evil glare being turned against him to which he was completely clueless to.

"Y-yes, thank you Matthew. And he is completely right. It is critical at this point that Mr. Kirkland remains as stress-free as possible. If we can, I'd like to continue with what you came here to do." once earning the attention of all the nations he nodded and moved on. "So this is the country that is in need of a symbol if you could say that," he pointed a long and slender finger to the article in the newspaper. "Anyways, I can't very well examine the state of the child unless we give it an ultrasound. So if you will, England, please lie down so we can begin and move your shirt up over your stomach." the blond hesitated for a moment unsure of how the giant machine next to the doctor worked. He chuckled, "It's all right, though this machinery is rather new to science, it is really helpful."

"A-all right then." Britain did what he was told and lied down on the chair, exposing his flat stomach.

Dr. Smith turned around pulling on some rubber gloves with a _snap_ and pressing a button to which the machine powered on with a rumble, a black screen flickering on with static. "This may be cold," he mumbled to England who flinched as he put a bit of cold gel to his exposed belly. He then took a wand-like instrument that connected to the machine and moved it across below the blond's navel. "Okay, what we're looking for here is to see if you grew a proper womb to carry the child and if there are any problems we can discover now, however, that is unlikely." all three blond's nodded at this information.

The doctor tapped on the static screen to move the nations' attention to it. Eventually they began to see a rounded figure on the screen and stared in ah.

"I can't tell what is what." France spoke up and chuckled a little.

"Shut up you twit." Britain answered angrily.

Smith cleared his throat, "If you will allow me to explain..." he paused, "It's hard to tell so early at this stage, but right at this bulge would be the head." he pointed out.

Britain continued to stare at the screen, all facial expressions blank. It was so much to take in, it was all too real. He didn't know how he should react. A real living being was growing inside him, half of it was him, the other half was Alfred. A slight twinge of pain hit his heart and he began to wish that it was America that was right by his side, sharing this moment. Getting a first glimpse at their child.

"U-umm will we be able to find the gender with this device?" Canada asked quietly, hugging his own chest as he stared intently at the screen.

"Unfortunately no. This equipment is much too new in its development to be able to do that with any form proficiency." he smiled to the blank faces, "But, you might like this." he turned around and flicked a switch to which there was a stirring sound.

Emerald eyes widened as the British man realized what the sound he was hearing was. The tiny room was filled with a flurry of _swishing_ none sense but after sometime he could pick up a pattern. _Could it be?_

"That's your child's heartbeat," the doctor gleamed with pride to the United Kingdom and slightly frowned when he saw the nation's face. "It sounds perfectly fine to me, I am slightly worried about the small size of the fetus but we will approach that subject when it comes to us."

Tears brimmed green eyes and began to pool over. _That sound. That's this child's beating heart. It's so beautiful._ He began to wipe his tears dry furiously, hoping he could hide his shame.

"Would you like me to give you all a moment?" Dr. Smith spoke up and when he received a nod he put away the wand in which the machine and the noises shut off, he handed Britain a towel to wipe off the gel and headed out.

It was then that England had mustered up his courage and ventured into looking up at Canada and France. Both their faces seem to be melted, a shine lit both of their blue pair of eyes.

Canada smiled warmly, "It's all so beautiful, eh?"

"Haha yeah, I suppose it is." Britain chuckled and wiped a stray tear. "I have you know though, as soon as this child is born I am moving back to my humble home! I don't want to burden my people more than I have to."

France began rubbing the Brit's back "Oui oui, mon ami. By the way, have you told either America or your boss about the great news?"

England gulped.

* * *

Did you all like it? And if you have assumptions that Dr. Smith has the hots for Canada, then you are right. :3 Thought that would be fun to add.

For those of you who did not know: 'Charlie' and 'Congs' were the names given to the Vietnamese soldiers that the Americans were fighting against. Also, the ultrasound was in fact invented and used for pregnancies in the 1960's, talk about good timing XD.

And for those fans who think that Sealand is Finland's and Sweden's child, need I remind you that Sweden merely adopted Sealand, our precious little port spans off from England so I felt that this was more fitting. Sorry for bringing the child's identity up so early in the fic but I wanted to explain how this was possible for the immortal countries.

To _ankhesenamun2, Anonymus_ (whoever you are XD),_ psycho of the spades, _and _hush a deathful lullaby,_ thank you for your wonderful reviews.

I hope you liked this chapter and please review. Thank you for reading!


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